


dream a little dream

by Anna_Blossom



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Canon-Typical Violence, Fire, Forest of the Nightmare King, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Blossom/pseuds/Anna_Blossom
Summary: He's alone.He'd lost sight of Gorgug and Fabian, and now he's alone.((a look into what Ragh's experience in the Forest of the Nightmare King might've been))
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66





	dream a little dream

**Author's Note:**

> heeey so about that nightmare forest huh
> 
> Btw, if there's anything you guys think I should add to the tags, then please feel free to tell me

He's alone.

He'd lost sight of Gorgug and Fabian, and now he's alone.

"Fabian!" He yells, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Gorgug!"

He waits, listens, but when no reply comes save for the faint rustling of leaves, he calls out again.

He wanders on for a few minutes more, hackles rising the longer he stays in the forest. He starts calling out for the rest of the Bad Kids.

“Adaine! Fig! The Ball!”

Five minutes more, and his voice has turned hoarse with shouting, but he continues nonetheless.

“Sandra Lynn! Tracker! Kristen!”

Five minutes more, and doubt starts to creep into his mind. Doubt that they’ve forgotten him. Doubt that they’ve left him. He isn’t sure which one is worse.

"Ayda! Fabian! Gorgu--"

"Ragh, dude," a familiar voice drones somewhere behind him, “chill out for a sec, man. You’ve been shouting for a while.”

He draws his glaive and turns in one smooth motion, baring his teeth, muscles tense. “Whoever you are, you better be prepared to have your ass kicked!”

“Hey, hey, I said chill, dude. It’s just me.”

From out of the foliage, Dayne Blayde steps out, hands up. He walks towards Ragh, wearing his letterman jacket. He grins in that crooked way Ragh found attractive a lifetime ago, before Jawbone.

Before the Bad Kids.

Before the black eye.

“Stay back,” he warns, brandishing his glaive, “I beat you during prom. I beat you in hell. And I’m gonna beat you here in this forest if you try anything.”

“Ragh, my man,” Dayne scoffs, tilting his head as he leans back against a tree, “ _you_ didn’t beat me. The _Bad Kids_ beat me. There’s a difference.”

Ragh growls, that same doubt coming back twofold, “Shut up!”

“Dude, you’re only mad because you know I’m right. I mean, look at you,” he nods at him. “Sandra Lynn’s a cool ranger, Cathilda’s a badass maid, Tracker’s magic keeps everyone safe at night-- I mean, they even talk to _Gilear_ more than they talk to you. So, let's face it," he shrugs, "you’re worthless to them, dude.”

His knuckles whiten around his weapon. “If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m gonna kill you!”

Dayne laughs, saying, “You’re not a Bad Kid, Ragh. You never were.”

Ragh charges at him, blood pumping as he falls into a rage.

The glaive sinks into nothing tree bark as Dayne flickers out of sight.

“Shouldn’t have done that, man,” he says, reappearing behind him with raised fists.

Raghs growls, yanking on his glaive but then the tendrils of vines wrap around the weapon from where it remains embedded in the tree. Danger sense kicks in, and he lets go just in time to jump back from the thorny vines that whip towards him.

He turns, weaponless, and takes a direct hit to his sternum as Dayne lunges forward and socks his chest. He feels something break. Breath escapes his lungs, and he falls to his knees.

He tries to take a breath, and again, but his throat closes up each time. He reaches up, clawing at his neck.

Dayne kicks him in the ribs, the force sending him to the floor, lying on his side, struggling to breath. Another kick, in his stomach. And another. And another. Another.

The lack of oxygen and pain makes him lightheaded, but he hears Dayne’s voice insulting him crystal clear despite it. Pure vitriol fills his ears, makes shame burn low in his gut. His ears ring. He tastes blood in his mouth.

A hand grabs the front of his jacket, forcefully putting him face to face with Dayne. Still grinning that crooked grin. His mind starts shutting down from the lack of air.

“This is what you get, you fucking fa--”

Ragh flinches at the slur, black spots appearing in his vision.

Dayne raises his fist one last time, and punches him in the face.

\--

Ragh Barkrock walks home with a bruise around his right eye.

It throbs dully with each step. It distracts him enough that he trips over a tree root jutting out of the sidewalk. He blinks, brow furrowed, because there are no trees in his neighborhood.

His eye throbs, and he looks back and sees a crack on the sidewalk.

 _Ah,_ he thinks. That makes more sense.

So he continues walking down the familiar streets of Elmville leading to the only home he's ever had. He passes by the old park his mother used to bring him to when he was younger, the old swing set rusted, the ground covered with foliage. Forest foliage.

His eye throbs.

He continues walking. He doesn’t know how he got back to Elmville. He doesn’t know what happened in Sylvaire. The details become fuzzy right after Dayne punches him into unconsciousness and right before he started walking. But he does know he has to go home to his mother.

So he continues walking.

And walking.

And walking.

And walking.

And then he stops.

A familiar burgundy door. His childhood home. Somehow, the paint seems fresh.

He swipes his hand across it and it comes back smeared with red.

He opens the door.

Inside, he hears his mother in the kitchen. He goes there.

"Mom?" he calls out as he steps through the open archway.

Lydia Barkrock is seated in her wheelchair, facing the lowered stove and away from him, humming a little tune to herself.

"Mom," he approaches, but then his black eye flares with a sudden pain, and he gasps, knees hitting the floor as he clutches his eye.

The humming stops.

"What's that on your face, Ragh?" she asks without turning to face him.

He blinks through the searing pain, "Mom, wh--" the pain intensifies, sending him prone on the floor. It feels like a dagger constantly stabbing into his right eye, twisting in the socket as it exits and enters. “It… it hurts, mom--”

"Dayne Blayde gave it to you?" She says, cutting him off, "Why? What for?"

He tries to stand, to ask for help, but he can only scream in agony.

"Oh, you stupid worthless boy," there's mocking affection in her voice, and through the haze of pain, he sees the wheelchair turn. "Did you really think he would love you back?"

"M-mom, please--"

"Did you really think _anyone_ would love you back?"

The smell of burning wood and smoke reaches him. Panic makes his guts twist.

The house burns, flames licking at the walls in his periphery. _Have to get her out, have to save her--_

"Mom, w-we have to go!" He manages to push himself up on his elbows.

"Look me in the face, son."

He urges his body to move despite the pain lancing through his eye, managing to kneel, hands clutching the sides of the wheelchair to keep himself upright.

"Look at me."

He doesn't look, a deep sense of fear telling him not to look. The smell grows stronger, and he feels heat. _Have to get mom out, keep her safe, away from the flames--_

"Ragh," her voice softens, a tone of voice he rarely heard from her. "Look at me."

Slowly, he looks.

The vision of his mother's burnt face forever imprints itself in his mind.

"You killed me, Ragh," she whispers, tongue falling to ash as she speaks, her piercing eyes pinning him in place. The smell of cooked meat and singed hair fills his nose as he lets out choked sobs.

"No. _No_." Tears build up in his eyes as he tries to remember, "Principal Aguefort said--"

"He lied," she leans in, voice still whisper-soft. "You told your friends something you shouldn't have, and you killed me."

"I didn't," he whimpers, knuckles white from clutching the wheelchair. He tries to move, to twist his head away from her, but he _can’t_. "I didn't kill--"

"You _killed_ me!" She screams, the gem in her scorched chest pulsing with light. "You little snitch! You killed me, you killed me you killed me killed me killed me killed me--"

Charcoal hands wrap around his throat, and the paralysis loses its grip on Ragh. Instincts kick in, and he shoves her off him and into the flame.

His mother’s corpse falls to the ground, wheelchair clattering.

Ragh turns, and runs, the glow of his burning home elongating his shadow.

\--

He runs.

He doesn’t know for how long, but he continues to run.

Exhaustion seeps into his bones, but the memory of his mother’s burnt corpse spurs him on.

So he keeps running.

Eventually, the smell of smoke fades, and he finds himself back approaching Aguefort Academy. He slows to a stop by the gates, legs shaking, feet aching.

He closes his eyes as he leans on his knees, panting with exertion.

A whistle blows, and his eyes snap open.

He’s sitting on a sideline bench. A dozen players stand in the bloodrush field, the stands filled to capacity by a boisterous audience, flood lights turned on as the evening game commences. He sees the Aguefort team playing against an unfamiliar opponent, their team colors unfamiliar to him. He hears a clapping sound beside him, and he turns to see a huge demonic entity wearing a tight white shirt and a tiny blue cap, holding a brown clipboard.

Gorthalax cups a hand around his mouth and yells, “Line, use your hips when you push!”

He turns to the field, He spots Gorgug in the line, pushing against a player much larger than him. The opponent pushes him down, a loud snapping of bones audible across the field as he lands on his arm. The enemy runner rushes past Gorgug and scores. A chorus of gasps and boos.

Ragh watches as Gorgug slowly gets up, fingers digging into the bench, expectantly darting his eyes towards the medical team on standby, but none of them go out into the field.

Horror fills him as he sees Gorgug stand and get into position, his arm twisted. The referee blows their whistle, starting the next play. The audience cheers.

“Coach! He’s hurt!” Ragh shouts, on his feet as soon as he realizes what’s happening, “You gotta get ‘im out of there!”

“‘Fraid I can’t do that, bud,” Gorthalax says, nonchalantly writing down something on his clipboard, before raising a hand to adjust his cap. “He’s our only shot at winning the line.”

“His arm’s fucking broken!” He yells, desperate, before pulling on Gorthalax’s sleeve. “Put me in! I’ll play! I’ll win the line, just get him out!”

He realizes his mistake the moment the coach turns to fully face him for the first time. Not Gorthalax, but a demonic Coach Daybreak. He snarls at Ragh, pushing him down on the ground.

“ _You’re_ gonna win the line?” he snarls, pointing a thick, meaty finger at him. “You can’t even win against a bunch of _fucking freshmen!_ You’re worthless, Ragh!”

Another wave of cheers erupts from the crowd, and Ragh glances just in time to see Fabian get tackled to the ground. His attacker stands, leaving Fabian lying limp on the ground. Another blow of the referee’s whistle.

Ragh tries to run towards the field, but Daybreak grabs his arm and pulls him back. 

“You can’t do anything, boy,” he growls, “so just sit tight and watch them die.”

Gorgug falls once more with another violent push from the enemy line. He lands next to Fabian, unconscious. Another round of cheers. Another whistle.

Filled to the brim with desperation, Ragh turns and punches Daybreak across the face, shocking him enough to make him lose his grip. A glint of metal catches his eye, and he sees his glaive lying against the bench.

He grabs it and charges into the field and stands in front of his collapsed friends, teeth bared. He feels strength come back to his arms as he goes into an aggressive stance. Opponents start rushing at him, and he tries his best to hold them back. The roar of the audience doubles out here in the field, cheers and taunts and jeers and applause overwhelming his senses.

He gets into the rhythm of the fight-- dodging the hits he can and withstanding those he can’t with rage. He slashes at the approaching attackers, uses his weapon’s reach to keep them at bay.

His entire being feels clear in a way it hasn’t been in a long time. Battle ready and out to kill. Every single hit that lands causes the audience to scream with delight, blood spilling into the grass. The sound exhilarates him.

Keen eyes spy a slight figure clad in that unknown team’s colors crouched next to the unconscious Gorgug, and he roars. He swings his glaive high to come down on them, but they dodge out of the way as it does.

The crowd boos, insults falling from their lips with Dayne and Daybreak’s voices overlapping with theirs.

So he tries again, putting even more force behind the second blow, only to be rebuffed by a spectral shield.

Even more jeering from the audience, slurs and mocking laughter. He thinks he hears his mother screaming.

He moves to attack once more, but then another figure grapples him from behind, forcing him into a headlock.

A voice comes through, shouting above the crowd.

“Ragh, Ragh! This is not you!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpses brown skin and dark hair.

“It’s _not you!_ ”

He looks up, and the moon gleams, before flooding the sky with its light. The world turns white around him, and the bloodrush field vanishes. A cool and gentle magic floods into his mind, dispelling the possession and the fear.

His knees immediately go weak and he collapses, the weight of exhaustion coming back all at once. He collapses to his hands and knees, gasping and sobbing.

When his sight comes back, he sees Aelwyn kneeling on the forest floor, crouched protectively over Adaine’s body. His guts twist at the hole in her chest, her denim jacket tacky with gore. Bile rises in his throat.

“Hey,” Tracker says, putting a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes are bloodshot but determined, mouth set. “Head in the game.”

He takes another gasping breath, and nods.

He looks up.

He sees Kalina, claws out and razor-sharp. He sees Adaine’s mother, floating as she readies another spell. He sees the real Gorthalax, grappling with the Nightmare King.

He sees his friends, bloody and bruised but not backing down.

Ragh stands, glaive in hand, muscles protesting and body shaking with the effort, but he stands nonetheless.

This nightmare's not over yet.

**Author's Note:**

> I love one (1) reformed gay idiot jock and need more fics about him. That is all. Thanks for reading!


End file.
